


Devil's Backbone

by Winterkissed_Jasmine



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reapertale (Undertale), F/M, Frisk is "Peresphone", Sans is "Hades", Sort Of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 11:17:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15556527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterkissed_Jasmine/pseuds/Winterkissed_Jasmine
Summary: He was dark and tainted and filled with darkness. She was made of light and beauty and virtue. But there something pure in his darkness, and there was something tainted in her light.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Anyway, I thought I was done with this ship but I dream when I'm driving and this popped up. Let's see how long I go with this.

The first time Sans found the woman, it was by accident. He had stepped out of the shadows of a tall oak tree upon a grassy hill, the darkness swirling around him like smoke and froze when he came face to face with a young woman. Well, not face to face, more like he was facing  _her_ back and she was staring out toward the sunset. He stepped back quickly, making the shadows tighten around him into an impenetrable shield and waited to see if she had noticed. 

 

She had not. The woman instead sat down, settling into the grass, fingers tangling in the thick blades as she tilted her face toward the sun and sat completely still. Sans cursed, eye sockets scanning the field warily. An alone woman, in this world, on this continent, was not simply an  _alone woman_. She had to be a monster, some sort of deadly creature that knew this is where Sans would emerge from the shadows and was ready to attack him. He had about a million — no, several  _billion_ enemies. That tends to be what happens when you're the Almighty God of Death and Decay, King of the Underworld, Monstrous Nightmare That Came In The Shadows And Stole Your Family. 

 

He could kill her, Sans contemplated. A snap of his fingers and she would crumble to dust and ash — but, if he was wrong, and this woman was just a woman then he would have  _hell_ to pay from Papyrus once her soul came wandering down. So instead, he sighed and waited and watched her. 

 

In the two hours that this woman sat on this field, she barely moved once. A slight shifting, as if her position on the grass had become uncomfortable. A brief moment where she picked up a golden flower, sniffed it, and smiled warmly. The sun continued to set, casting warm oranges and reds and pinks across her face — a face he hadn't seen once because she never turned to glance behind her at him. From her back, all he could see was her thick, dark brunette hair falling in thick curls and waves down her spine, pinned away with a golden flower hair comb. She was wearing an ivory toga pinned to one shoulder and leaving the other one bare, showing smooth golden skin and delicate shoulder blades. The longer he waited, the more he believed that she was a true, simple human who liked to watch the sunset. 

 

Finally, the sunset fully and darkness started to creep in, dusk hanging over her head. The woman stood as soon as the last rays vanished behind the mountains, brushed grass of her white toga — now slightly stained with green — and turned toward him. Sans braced himself, his skeletal hand gripping his scythe tightly, waiting — But nothing happened. She just walked past the tree, close enough that Sans could fully study her face. 

 

Her face — it took his breath away. 

 

The woman had soft, delicate features attached with high cheekbones and a small, dainty nose. The front of her toga was covered with clips and barrettes of the same golden flowers in her thick hair. She was still young and well-fed, shown by the slight plumpness of her face and the rosiness on her cheeks. But it was her  _eyes,_ her eyes that stole Sans breath. They were the color of golden coins, the thickest of honey, the very golden ichor that flowed through the blood of the gods. Her tan skin shimmered as if sunlight itself was lit beneath her flesh, burning through. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eye sockets on. He was glad that she had already passed him because his shadowy veil had shattered as he stumbled backward as if he were hit. 

 

He gaped after the woman who strolled away, a bounce in her step until she was completely swallowed by darkness and her white toga vanished in the night. Sans stared after her, his very soul aching and cracked. After a moment, he turned and stepped back into the shadows, vanishing as well, completely forgetting his mission of collecting souls. It could wait until later. 

 

—————————————————————————

 

It had become sort of a habit, after a while. Sans would collect souls and then he would appear beneath that oak tree, cloaked in the shadows it bore and bounded from shadow to shadow until he found her. It didn't take long — she seemed to always be in the area, whether it was picking apples at a nearby orchard (often eating most of them), spreading wildflower seeds in flicks of her wrist across the fields, dipping her feet in a stream, or even just lounging on the grass, staring at the clouds. He wondered how she managed to slip away for so long. Did she not have a family that worried when she vanished for hours upon hours each day? But he didn't think too much about the question — if she didn't spend hours upon hours then he wouldn't have anyone to watch. 

 

It was an obsession, Sans knew that. He just liked to admire her, study her, like the way she smiled softly when she found a nest of baby birds high in one of the apple trees. She was compassionate, he knew, because as soon as she found them she descended the tree swiftly and marked the tree and never went back into that tree. She was resilient, he knew because every day she hiked miles on miles all across the hills and forest without that sweet smile ever shattering on her face. She was... beautiful.

 

He had taken a look at her aura one day when she had paused to stretch out on the soft bank of a stream, digging her bare feet into the sand. It was as he expected, blindingly bright and wonderfully pure, a radiant ivory white emitting like several waves from her. He could only look at it a moment before it became too bright to bear before he had to close his eyes. For a moment, he was disgusted at himself. She was pure and beautiful and bright and he... he was not. He was anything but.

 

He was the God of Death, he was the Monarch of the Underworld, he had a kingdom to rule and instead, he was lurking in the shadows. His own aura was tainted with billions of death and murders and war and destruction. It was dark, darkest than any other Gods aura, even Undyne's. And when your aura is darker than the Goddess of War and Battle, it is saying something. If she saw him, she would scream with terror. If his skeletal appearance didn't, then the shadowy tendrils emitting from his very being, the very otherworldly inhumaneness that all Gods and Goddesses had. 

 

He was filthy and tainted and dark and awful and she was the complete opposite of that, pure and radiant and shining. 

 

But... even when he  _knew_ she would be terrified if she ever saw him, he wanted oh-so-bad to reveal himself, to take her into his arms every time she laughed and smile at the world around her. Every time she cupped her hands into a stream and swallowed a mouthful of water and a droplet trickled down her golden throat, he wanted to wipe it away and cup her cheek. Undyne would laugh herself till she cried if she knew that Sans was obsessed with a measly human. 

 

Sans was obsessed with her — obsessed with her beauty and her radiance and the fact that she was the complete contrast to him — that if he ever noticed anything different about her, his mind chose to ignore it.

 

Until he couldn't anymore. 

 

It was a fairly normal afternoon. Sans had taken souls in the morning, sent them to his brother, then found the woman trekking through the forest, a bag on her back and her smile wiped off her face. Her jaw was set in fury, her golden eyes as cold as ice and steel as she stomped through the forest. He jumped to another shadow, a few feet ahead, desperately wanting to stop her from wherever she was planning to go. He wanted to close her off in this forest, trap her in the trees, in that field and keep her safe. 

 

Perhaps it was her fury that had attracted them, maybe it was the frantic wish he had cast out in the world that drew them, but before he could blink, three monstrous scorpion creatures stepped out from the trees right in front of her. They were gigantic, towering several feet over the woman, chattering at her ominously and snapping their claws. She screamed and darted backward as they lunged venomous stingers toward her faster than lightning.

 

Before he could cast out his magic, her own hands were thrown up in front of her, palms flat and fingers curled and then she exploded. Golden light exploded from her, sending the three monsters flying backward. Sans felt the magic rush over him, burning as hot as fire, scalding him, leaving him stunned and shocked. Magic — some humans had them, but it required a blessing from the Gods, and the magic was barely anything to cry about. But this... this was  _powerful_. _Too_ powerful for something as fragile and dainty as her. The girl herself had been thrown back by her own magic, though she was unscathed. She was gasping, tears streaming down her face, scrambling to get back to her feet. Only one of the monsters had been boiled alive by her magic, the other two scrambled to their claws and rushed forward again. 

  
Sans shook off his stunned silence and stepped out of the shadows. 


	2. Chapter 2

All Frisk wanted to do was have somewhere where her mother and her brother couldn't find her. That's all. She wanted a place where she could go and build up the world around her and create a life of her own, without them breathing down the back of her neck. That little wildflower field, with the stream and the small part of the forest, it was all  _hers_. She had implanted magic into the ground at the borders, wards that would repel humans from wandering too close. It was the one trick that her mother had taught her, that one little bit of magic:  _Keep Others Away_. 

 

Anything else was absolutely forbidden. That golden magic in her, it was inaccessible. Every time she tried, her mother would shriek and scream and Frisk would shriek and scream until one of them stomped out of the house — usually Frisk. But if she didn't come back, if she just kept walking, she would die. It was a snarling thing inside of Frisk, the magic, constantly threatening to burn her to a crisp if she wasn't careful, a well that kept flowing and flowing until it spilled into her and turned her to ash. Every morning her mother had to rest her palm on her forehead and wrest away the magic, keeping it from over-flowing. Every single morning, Frisk had to wait until she mother deigned to remove the very magic she had given Frisk. 

 

So she made a little area where she could disappear every single day, an oasis in a desert where she could lay on the grass and smile at the sun and pick the beautiful wildflowers that filled the fields and eat the apples that grew there. Frisk knew her mother was watching — as her mother watched everything and everyone — but she didn't mind. As long as her mother never tried to take it away, she would be fine. 

  
Frisk wasn't naive. She was aware that the only reason Frisk got to keep her little paradise was that her mother knew taking it away would lead to more trouble. Keeping it kept Frisk calm, idle. Her mother knew she wasn't going to lose Frisk — after all, Frisk had to come back every evening unless she wanted to burn everything around her. 

 

The first night had been... amazing. That little green hill by the oak tree, the perfect spot that overlooked all of her domain, her kingdom. She had stood there, as the sun started to cast vibrant colors across the sky like paint across the canvas and believed that she had found it. She had found the place she had always been looking for, where not even her mother or siblings could come and bother her. All of her life she had given and shared everything that she was, but this one little thing was hers. She didn't have to elbow her sister or brother out of the way, squabbling over her mother's affection like wolves in front of carrion. She didn't have to worry about her mother storming up behind her and forcing her back to her room. For once, in her whole life, Frisk was at  _peace_. She had curled up on that grassy hill and waited till the sky got dark, waited till the stars started to prick the sky with glistening teardrops, just her and that watchful oak tree, towering above the world.

 

Each day felt like a breath of fresh air, crystal clear and so bright that it almost hurt. The colors became more vibrant, vivid emeralds in the trees and grass, cerulean rivers, and flowers that sparkled like gems. Even the creatures of the forest had started to respond kindly to her interaction, the deer wandering over and nuzzling against the fruit she picked until she gave them some, the birds chirping cheerfully, leaving little twigs and colorful objects in her path. Frisk had tripped upon a snake one day, black as the night sky with ivory fangs dripping with venom that sizzled when it touched the grass and all it did was give her an indescribable look and slither away, vanishing into the shadows of the tree. Her kingdom was watching over her, Frisk was absolutely sure of it. Her citizens keeping their Queen under an eye.

 

She had felt its watchful eyes on her every single day she traversed the woods, the stream, the fields. At first, Frisk had thought she had been imagining it, but as the days grew on she was only more sure that the forest was intent on protecting her. It wasn't malevolent, but careful and studious. Even though she scaled the tallest tree, she never got so much as a splinter. It was  _her_ forest, and it knew it. 

 

Frisk arrived at dawn each morning and left at dusk, right before the sun fully set. Her mother hated it. 

 

"Think of all the dangers you are to face, my child." She had tutted over breakfast one morning, watching Frisk with wary and careful eyes, her great big paws pouring her daughter a drink that gleamed gold under the torchlight of their home. "I cannot protect you once you leave these walls." 

 

Frisk eyed the drink but folded her hands delicately across her lap. "I've told you, mother, my forest will protect me. It doesn't want me to get hurt." She insisted and then paused, thoughtfully. "Perhaps it is my powers that is influencing the forest."

 

Her mother stiffened, ivory fur bristling slightly. "Enough. Your powers... they cannot do that." 

 

Frisk scowled. "Well, how we would we know? You never let me learn?" She swallowed by the fire that was starting to burn her throat and shoved back from the table, the chair snapping to the ground with a loud clatter. "Every single day you tell me how dangerous the outside world is! But I've  _never_ been hurt or in pain. I've never seen these so-called monsters or creatures that you say lurk in every shadow!" 

 

"How naive you are, my child, to think that the world is only what you see. Of  _course_ , you haven't seen any monsters! I've done  _everything_ to protect you." Her mother's ears flattened against her head, lips curling back to flash elongated fangs. If Frisk was smart, she would back off. If Frisk was smart, she would sit back down and demurely dip her head down. But Frisk was tired. Tired of being sequestered. Tired of being  _protected_. 

 

"Protect me? All you've done is trap me in a tiny room my whole life! Terrify me of these powers that  _you_ gave me! Prevent even my brother and sister from seeing me!" She slammed her hands on the table, her own lips curling in a contemptuous sneer. "The only thing I need to be protected from is  _you_." Frisk whirled, storming from the kitchen into her room, leaving her mother's gaping face behind. The walls were starting to close in, pressing against her flesh, suffocating her with her mother's presence that was everywhere, every corner, every grain of the wood. She  _hated it_. She needed to get out — get out, get out get out—

 

She burst from the house and ran, her lungs gasping desperately for her fresh air outside, but even that smelled like her mother: lavender and honey and smoke and ember. There was her satchel, packed days before when she had the idea of creating a garden within her forest and she scooped it up without a second thought and kept walking. 

  
And walking. 

 

And walking. 

 

Frisk walked past her forest, past the oak tree with its watchful eyes, and surged through the land beyond. For once in her life, she felt her mother's eyes leave her as she continued onward. If Frisk had been paying attention, she would feel the faintest, imperceptible  _zing_ of her wards — of her mother's wards — across her skin as she exited them. If she had been paying attention, and not focusing on the fact that her hands were trembling with both fury and magic that was already starting to well up, she would have noticed the slight scraping that was coming from the forest around her, a click of strange steps across dirt and stone. If Frisk hadn't been realizing that her mother never lessened the burning of her magic, she would have noticed the way the forest fell silent. 

 

But she didn't, not until three monstrous, gigantic scorpions stepped into her path. 

 

They were larger than her, almost larger than the forest, their armored scales dappled with dull greens and browns to blend in with the foliage they just emerged from. Their claws were thick and razor-sharp — she could see the remanents of gore from previous victims clinging to the edges — big enough that they could no doubt slice through a tree trunk. Even their stingers were almost the size of her chest, tip edged with poison that smelled acrid even from far away — and shot toward her, lightning quick. She fell back with a shrill scream, her foot catching on the ground, as she flung her hands out desperately.

 

The well of magic within her surged forward, filling her veins with golden magic that burned and crest out of her fingertips, her nails, her pores and shattered out with a booming sound like thunder. Frisk flew backward, slamming her hip and side into the dirt and skidding, panting furiously. The magic stung a thousand little cuts across her flesh, her hands, and fingers where it had exited. She could feel her blood starting to bead out, and Frisk curled her fingers into the dirt. The monsters had been flung backward as well, one boiled alive by the intensity of her magic. The other two scrambled to their feet, hissing furiously and rushing toward her again. 

 

Panicked, Frisk surged a hand into her golden magic, pain welling up in her chest. She never learned how to fight — never learned how to defend. An idiot for being placid in her cottage, a princess in a tower — she was going to die _, die, die—_

 

And then a figure stepped in front of her, billowing black robes and a razor-sharp scythe that slashed forward. Frisk could only watch as the figure sliced off the claw of one monster, a burst of cerulean blue energy blasting both her and the creatures back. Her savior — the idea that  _she_ needed a savior made a hysterical laugh bubble in her chest — raised a hand, white and pale and wrong-looking for some reason that Frisk's panic-bled mind couldn't figure out, but bathed in a blue light as they directed slashing magic toward the creatures as they themselves shot forward with the scythe. They moved with easy grace, a whirling figure of black robes and blue magic and pale ivory while Frisk was still splayed on the ground, watching with an apathetic wonder. 

 

 _Help_. She should help. She couldn't just sit there — Frisk needed to do something — anything, anything. She buried her fingers into the dirt, scrambling for anything, her breaths tearing her lungs as she let her magic surge forward once more, burning as it exited into the dirt. The trees came alive around her, branches shooting for the monsters — and missing completely, instead of grabbing her ebony hero and yanking them into the air. "No!" She cried out, slamming her other hand into the dirt. "The monsters —" Vines wreathed in gold tightened on the figure, yanking its wrists and legs out. 

 

The figure snarled in confusion and blue magic surged from him, colliding with her magic, shredding her golden sunlight into thin wisps. Frisk felt it like a physical blow, pain surging through every nerve, more thin cuts slicing across her flesh as she screamed into the dirt, curling up as her magic fought within her, snarling and screeching. She didn't even watch as the person summoned two skeletal monsters that tore with claws made of blue magic into the scorpions. 

 

She didn't even notice a lurking shadow behind, her magic wreaking havoc on her senses. However, neither did the robed figure, until a hidden, fourth monster stepped from where it had been hidden in the tree, just a few feet away from where Frisk was writhing on the ground. When he saw the monster, looming above her small delicate figure, he let out a roar that shook the trees and surged forward, desperate.

 

Frisk looked up just at the moment that the monster slammed a stinger full of poison right through her stomach — a stinger that would have gone through her chest, her heart if she hadn't scrambled to her knees with inhumane speed. Her back arched, her mouth opening in a silent scream as another cerulean skeletal creature appears in front of her, sending the monster flying away, the stinger tearing out in a gush of blood. 

 

Blood, that when hitting the fresh air, turned as golden as her magic, as golden as the sun, shimmering as if a thousand diamonds were incrested in it. The figure caught Frisk as she started to fall forward, the hood ripped back, revealing a skull and worried grin, sockets narrowed in concern as he scooped Frisk into his bony arms. "You're a goddess?" He hoarsely asked a quickly fading Frisk, who looked upon Sans with a dreamy and dull expression.

 

She reached up a delicate hand, brushing blood-stained fingers across his mandible, leaving golden trails. "Death?" She whispered before her eyes fluttered closed and she went limp in his arms.

 

 


End file.
